


Left to Live (in the Grip of Death)

by bluemermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Death, F/M, Obsession, Stalking, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco had been a creature of death for many moons now, and he grew tired of it. But the magic of Samhain would bring him what he truly desired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left to Live (in the Grip of Death)

Pale and lifeless female forms lay draped over cushions and chairs, eyes heavy-lidded and lips cracked and dry. Blue veins pulsed visibly beneath paper-thin skin, and dark circles stood out on white faces. Everywhere were weak signs of life: labored breathing, twitching fingers, arms reaching out for salvation. Each of the women were alive, but they couldn't have wished more fervently for death. Although always it was denied to them.

Draco walked through this den of desolation with his sneer fixed firmly in place, with his steps slow and determined, graceful and uncaring. Even in death, he looked better than these forlorn women, these who lay begging for his fangs, begging to be drained of what little life force remained to them. It was a sad and disgusting life, the life of a vampire's slave.

The bite of the vampire did not always turn one into a vampire herself: there was a method to it, and it far more often led to this, a desperate combination of hatred and adoration, the rush of hot lust bleeding into the misery of being constantly so close to death. It was alluring at first, to most vampires and to Draco as well, the idea of being so needed by a living human woman, to have her crawling after his feet, kissing his ankles, moaning so deliciously beneath him night after feverish night. It was alluring to be master of the slaves.

But Draco had been a creature of death for many moons now, and he grew tired of it. He grew tired of these corpses around him, staring after him with their weak and desperate cries, their eyes so large and yet so empty. There was no spark there, no excitement, no thrill. There was no chase.

He did not have to feed from the slaves; he could make his own, a million a month if he so chose. But to be a vampire in a world of magic had no mystery. They could all see him for what he was, and the only women who would come close were those who were already marked for slavery. Their skin was not so pale, their eyes not so dull, and yet they were already desperate, already salivating after the touch of death, the promise of the slow crawling misery that awaited them. If they weren't slaves already, they were determined to become such. And Draco grew tired of it.

Long and numerous nights had passed since he had nursed any regrets over the life he had once lived, the cruelty he had shown others, the arrogance he had lorded over those who he had considered lesser beings. The entirety of humanity was beneath him now and he did not care; blood status bored him. Years had flashed before his eyes, years of hunting and feeding, years of death, and he had forgotten what it had been like to be alive. He craved nothing now but the hunt, the flow of blood over his tongue, and he cared not what sort of lineage his victims had. They all tasted the same.

It was the hunt that differed, and not by status or house, but by the personality of the hunted. Draco looked out upon the midnight sky and dreamed of rebellion, of reluctance, of fear. The very idea of fear excited him. When had he last looked upon fear? He could not remember.

The hour of Samhain was near, the night when all dark creatures felt most free to roam the earth, to slink their way into the gleam of streetlamps and cast their own form of magic upon the people. It was the perfect night for Draco to slip out of this den of death and capture his dream. He would capture fear, and he would savor it, would keep it for himself for as long as he could.

His family now was only death, pale creatures lingering in between life and something other. His family was crawling in the depths, in the gloom, in the dank underbelly of an abandoned castle. Draco emerged into the fresh clean air of night, and he felt invigorated. He would leave that family behind as he had left his living one all those years ago, the parents he had once loved. He couldn't remember love either, now. But that did not bother him.

He swept over the countryside, down through the mountain pass and into civilization, into light and sound and life. He breathed it in and it was glorious; it filled him with a thrill he had not had in ages. It brought back memories, memories of shopping for school supplies and cavorting through the alleyways with his kin, the Death Eaters. Draco touched the old scar on his arm and laughed to himself; he was truly an eater of death now.

The people had the spark of magic thrumming through their veins; they looked at Draco and shrunk away from him, feeling the otherness inside of him. He could not disappear amongst the wizards like a werewolf, for he was always the monster and never the man. He was paler than life and marked of death. The very way he moved was vampiric, gliding over the cobblestones. Any who had ever walked through the halls of Hogwarts knew Draco for what he was, and they avoided him.

As he moved he sensed the mingling glances of fear and desire, the normal living humans mixed with those who would be dead, who would lovingly give themselves over to the allure of the predator. Draco felt nothing but disdain for them all, the mindless fools and miserable wastes of life, all of them wandering through the cloud with nothing to show for themselves. Would they all be so happy to die? He briefly contemplated choosing one of those who lusted for him, luring them into an alley and draining them of life, watching the horror in their eyes as they realized how foolish their desire had been.

But he yearned for something else on this night. He yearned for power, for a desire of his own. If he could take someone and bend them to his will without killing them, without turning them into slaves, without having to see the sadness of their devoid existence. He yearned for a strength that did not exist in the common man, a vitality that did not thrive in the body of a slave. Draco yearned for true domination over life, instead of merely reaching out for the death that came to him so easily.

He yearned for this and found it, unexpectedly, just when he had begun to despair over the grey masses surrounding him. Life shone from the vibrant red locks of the young woman in the doorway, in the gleam of her eyes as she laughed wholeheartedly, flashing her teeth as her body thrummed with life and joy and desire, a crashing wave of emotion brought on simply by being alive.

It was intoxicating; Draco froze in the far off shadows, eyeing his prey as she chatted animatedly with another young female, as they joked and laughed and shared stories of the party they'd just left. Draco felt the first stirrings within him, a warmth he did not often have the opportunity to feel, the desire he had been searching for. He realized that if his heart had not ceased its rhythms so long ago, it would be fluttering in his chest, panting for the life that shone before him.

Fingers curled into desperate fists, feet shuffled over the stones, eyes gleamed with the triumph of selecting his prey: Draco made his move. The women walked along together, his redhead nearly skipping. He followed them.

The moment they parted, the moment the lesser turned away down a side street, the moment the chosen stepped into the true shadows of night, was the moment Draco swept in beside her. Silently slithering over the ground, his robes held still about his slender frame, he was there before she could ever have noticed him, before she could have spoken a single syllable of fright. He was there and his hands were upon her, enclosing her arm with his death grip.

He would have spoken to her, would have told her of his claim upon her, his plans and his desires, but such words had weakened the knees of many a slave before this, and Draco wanted none of such things on this evening. He wanted nothing but domination, and he would keep his silence so as not to influence the girl.

Eyes widened and red lips opened to make sound, but Draco had his hand over her mouth in a flash, and pulled her deeper into the night, pressing her up against the bricks, at the back of some abandoned building. It was then that their eyes met; Draco felt a shiver, and his mouth hungered for her blood, as his body hungered for her flesh. She looked terrified, and it brought him pleasure.

Eager still to avoid speaking, he hissed, and leaned in closer, surrounding her with his presence and his power. His tongue darted out from between his lips, tasting her skin. She shivered at the touch, and Draco growled at the feel of a wand poking his side.

The girl made sound in muffled grunts, her face twisting into fury under his grip, body twisting in attempts to kick the monster off of her. Draco grinned and broke his vow of silence, whispering harshly into the cool air around them. "I hope you studied hard in Defense classes," he said, savoring the realization which swept over her expression, as she noticed that no breath escaped his lungs, no smoky cloud of exhalation drifted into night as he spoke. "Takes more than simple spell work to stop me from taking what I want."

She tried it anyway, shocking him with a burst of burning heat that swept over his body and then subsided, and Draco laughed at the spell. "I've been in worse fires," he said, with a brief memory flash of soaring over the flames of a dark and cavernous room. Such memories were meaningless to him now; he brushed it aside.

Surprising him, she bit down on his fingers then, and when he pulled his hand away she screamed. "Vampire," she said, and pushed at his chest, frantically struggling against him, but Draco had strength above any living human, and he contained her, slapping his hand back over her face. "Get the fuck off me," the girl snarled, and Draco pressed harder, silencing her once more.

She had no idea, she couldn't realize that every moment of protest only spurred him on more, only excited him further, pushed him farther and farther into the frenzy of the hunt, of the stirring warmth inside of him. Draco grinned at her, flashing his pointed fangs, and he slid a hand along her body, feeling her curves and the tremor of her fear. He would not speak again, only held her against the wall with one arm as his other hand tore at her sparkling robes. She glittered in the dark, dressed as a fairy of some sort, certainly having come from a pathetic Halloween gathering. Draco had no care for fairies, but he adored the struggling woman underneath.

He looked at her face. There was a brief spattering of freckles across her nose, marring the otherwise pale skin. Her eyes were large and wet, glittering with tears. Draco leaned in and tasted those tears, frowned at the taste of cosmetic that marked the skin. It was first time the bubble of perfection was broken; the use of makeup to cover imaginary flaws was common amongst the grey.

"Please," he heard her murmur, just beneath his fingers. So quiet, barely spoken under the pressure of his hand on her mouth, but he heard her, and it was not the pleading of a slave, eager for the bite. It was the beg of a true victim, of one who desires only to live and be free. This pleased him, and he forgot about such trivial things as concealer and blush.

Her legs were soft and shapely, and Draco shoved them open, pressing his body between and earning himself a whimper of fear from his prey. She was beautiful in her misery, so different from the depression of the multitudes. She was unwilling and she was full of life, and he could take so much from her, so much more than the drop of blood his thirst needed.

Nimble fingers slipped between thighs, and she gasped, her body jolting against him. She struggled to leave and she struggled to stay, tears streaming down her cheeks as he explored the depths of her flesh. Draco looked into her eyes, so deep and so unique, brilliantly brown with subtle hints of green, and long ago memories of snakes. He had the allure of his kind, the seduction which drew in even the most adamant of women, and he could feel her resolve weakening, her strength already beginning to fade.

Cravings for strength and passion were simply the means to the end, which was the devouring of the soul. Who could feel potent when the victim was already drained? Who could revel in the feel of victory when they won before the game even begun? Draco yearned for desire and it was the desire to destroy that which drew him in, the fire of life. His prey was strong and beautiful with a fire in her eyes, and he was the dark water which would douse her flames. And he would dance in the smoke and ashes left behind.

Wanting to make this encounter last, he struggled, too, struggled not to pierce that gorgeous neck with his teeth, struggled not to taste her precious blood until he absolutely had to. Draco touched the girl and kissed her, running his tongue along her neck, rutting against her, the tattered remains of her outfit streaming around them both in the wind. He kept a hand over her mouth so that she would not scream, though he could see in her eyes that she was past that point now. She still longed for freedom, but recognized that it was not to come.

Would she give in now, now when he finally felt the moisture dampen her thighs? Would her eyes glaze over, would she slump against him, would she moan her pleasure as he marked her? No, for she was perfect, and brought her knee up in a surprise attack against him. Draco jumped back with a snarl, furious with himself for letting up on the pressure, for allowing that opening, as he had begun to lose himself in the passion of the moment.

The girl spat at his feet and tugged her robes tightly to her exposed body. "Go fuck yourself," she snapped, and as Draco lunged to hold her again she vanished, turning on the spot and sliding into the nothingness of Apparition.

Draco slammed his fists against the wall, his otherworldly strength leaving crumbling indents in the bricks. He had forgotten about Apparition. It had been quite some time since anyone had wanted to use it against him. It was the price of chasing the unwilling prey.

But he would not give in either. In fact he was more eager than ever to have her for his own, to tame the beast. He would find the girl and take what was his to claim. The prey had no mark upon her of other men, had nothing but the airy freedom of being completely alive, and Draco would tear that from her so that she would be left with nothing at all.

At the moment, however, he was hungry, and although he despised everything about it, he would have his meal.

Another dead body in an alley, having given in to their foolish desire for darkness. It only ever lead to death, but at least Draco would not torment this one by leaving them to beg for it.

**

Draco did not require actual sleep in his state of eternal death, but he would rest after he had eaten, and the memories of his life would flitter past his eyelids until he could rouse himself away from them, cast them back into the shadows and go on with his existence. He was as pathetic as those in the grey, although those amongst the living had no excuse to be lifeless. Draco had been cursed with death and he had simply come to accept it.

But still the memories would come, and on this night they were filled with gleaming green eyes and the fires of hatred, enemies made of smoke coming after Draco with their wands poking through the skin. He remembered fire, and darkness, and the burning loathing that came only from the passionate investment into someone else's life. The pale skin of the prey, with her scattering of freckles, and shimmering red hair streaming out behind the girl as she flew past him on a broom.

Draco pulled himself out of the depths with a rush of anticipation, with a triumph born of realization and planning. He remembered, and he would find his prey easily, to take her away as his own, and he would have such satisfaction out of it, not only for crushing passion in his hands but for taking it from those who had once brought him so much misery. He had long since left his old life with all of its petty emotions behind, and yet. And yet he would still feel a stirring of revenge as he took from the Potters.

**

He stalked his prey for nights upon nights after, savoring her shivers as she felt his gaze upon her, though she could never see him slinking through the shadows. She sat on the porch of her home and played with the fallen leaves, drawing invisible lines on the ground with their browned stems. Her hair fell delicately over one shoulder, exposing the tender neck on the other side, so that Draco would salivate in his craving for her blood.

She felt him there and stared out into the night, never leaving the steps of her house, looking up at the moon with her arms wrapped around her shoulders. Sometimes her family would join her, two older brothers with the same spark of life in their movements, though Draco was not nearly as drawn to them as he was to his chosen prey.

He would allow her to feel him, would let her tremble in anticipation, let her linger in the world between life and death, as she fought the hold he had put upon her, the spell he had cast with his penetrating gaze, the magic which went beyond the sort either of them had been born with. He would torment her nightly, watching his beautiful prey, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in. He would allow her to feel everything first.

She touched her neck and he growled deep in his throat, wanting and needing and thrilling at the sign of her remembrance, as she stroked her own skin in the same way he had done. She cried and he laughed to himself.

He hadn't been back to his castle in days and days; he had forgotten all about his adopted family and his slaves. They were nothing to them, had been nothing for eternity. This girl was everything, all he had been searching for with bonus benefits to boot.

Draco watched Harry Potter leave for work and he grinned, feeling gleeful that his old nemesis had become his enemy once more. It was as though he clung to the remnants of his former life. He had left it behind, and told himself that he had gotten over his old resentments, and yet they lingered still.

He would murder Potter's daughter, and keep that memory fresh for all time, so that he could have something to cling to when his life went back to grey.

But he would make her fearful first. And so he watched her, and followed her, and made her weak just that little bit by bit. And she would fear the inevitable.

"I'm not afraid of you," she would shout into the night, brandishing her wand at that which she could not see. But she would be lying.

**

When it happened, she was alone in the house. The family had gone out for the evening and the girl had stayed behind, and Draco knew that the moment had come at last. She stood in the front pathway and looked out into the world. She was beautiful in that orange light, surrounded by the fading sun with the multitude of fallen leaves at her feet. Autumn suited her color; her blood would only add to the tableau of perfection.

Draco felt more alive than he ever had, moving quickly over the twisted branches and cracked concrete as he approached his prey. The rush of the hunt thrummed through him like a heartbeat, to replace the one he had lost. The girl stood in the front pathway and she felt him closing in on her; she breathed deeply and clenched her fists, with terror in her eyes. But she had chosen to stay home by herself; she had called him to her, and he would happily heed that call.

"You fucker," she cried, when he hit her, when he grabbed that flailing body and pinned it to the earth, in the dirt beside the pathway, in the crunching of leaves that were slowly dying, as she would be slowly dying momentarily. "You think you can kill me? My father's head Auror, and you're a vampire. You'll be dead in an instant."

"I'm already dead," Draco replied, and he kissed her, tasting the delightful mix of saliva and blood in her mouth, the sweetness of her essence. He kissed her lips and felt her thrashing beneath him, pummeling his back with her fists, and he laughed as he looked down on her. "You are so full of life, and yet you also wonder what it would be like to have me. You can't deny my pull, though it's delectable how you try."

"I don't want anything to do with you," she said, though he felt her trembling, though he saw the spark of denial in her gleaming eyes. His hold had seeped into her, had traveled over those fallen leaves and into her eyes as she watched, as she searched the darkness for his invisible form. She had wondered what he wanted from her and grown curious at the thoughts, at the ideas creeping into her mind. She had seen his fangs and had fallen for their allure, the pull of the shadowy death awaiting her. She had become the slave in waiting, though she fought it all the way, and the spark of that fight kept him from growing tired of her.

"I don't want anything to do with you," she said, and he laughed at her, laughed as he gazed deeply into those eyes, as he nudged her legs open and pushed her skirt up her thighs. She was in no glittering robes this time but in a skirt and blouse, the picture of femininity and beauty with her hair spread behind her head like a shining red cloud. Draco slipped his hands up her thighs and watched her breath catch in her throat; he grinned a feral grin and finally, finally, leaned in for the taste.

He kissed her first, with something like reverence, nipping at the skin of her neck. She gasped and writhed against him, though she was going nowhere, with no freedom to Apparate away this time. Draco licked her skin and felt the hunger overwhelm him, so that he could hold back no longer. His teeth pierced her skin and the blood flowed over his tongue, hot and sweet and invigorating.

The girl betrayed herself then, with a stifled moan escaping her lips, and Draco felt a sharp pleasure sweep over him. She tasted of life itself, and she enjoyed the pain of having that life drained away from her. Most of the slaves did, but they screamed their joys out freely, while Draco's prey hesitated in the shame of it, in the desire to escape it and go back to the innocence of her pure life. He took it from everyone, but he took it from her most forcefully, and it spurred him on.

As her blood rushed through him, it shot straight to his groin, making him hard and eager to take more and more from the girl. He drank his fill from her and then lifted his head, looking at her with her eyes closed and her lips pursed, looking at the flow of blood from the wound, staining the yellow leaves beneath. He looked at her and grinned, and held her down as he caressed her, as he touched that open wound and got his fingers red as well. He slipped his blood-soaked fingers down her body then, leaving trails of sticky red along her clothing and skin, marking the trail he took down to her center.

She whimpered when he touched her between her legs, the wetness of unwanted desire mixing with the remnants of her blood on his fingers. She whimpered, and pushed up against him, and when her eyes opened there was a cloudy disorientation in them, a yearning for something she could not define. Draco would define it for her.

He had no words for what they were feeling but she would show her, he would pull her apart and dive into her remains. He tore her knickers off and tossed them aside, thrust his fingers deep into her sex and made her cry, those delicious tears leaking down the sides of her face and trickling into her wound, joining the flow of blood to the ground.

"I don't – I don't –" she panted, unable to speak, unable to determine how she felt. Draco smiled down upon his prey and licked her blood off his lips. "No," she said weakly, a fighter to the end.

He loved her in that moment, as she failed to shake away her weakness under his power, as she narrowed her eyes and attempted to speak, to plead with him. He loved that she still tried to fight him, even as she clenched around his fingers with her desire, even as she touched her own neck and moaned at the pain it brought her. He felt a love that made him want to scream, to tear his chest open and share the choking fury of emotion with her, to spill the blood he had taken from her back into her mouth and make her as he was, dead and still alive to wander the world of grey. He growled loudly and lowered his mouth to her again, to taste more of her sweetness.

He was aching now and he was desperate to be inside of her, but still he was hungry and he would drink from his prey, drink just enough to weaken her force yet leave her awake and aware of what he would do to her. Draco opened his robes and fitted his cock up against her entrance; he held the girl down as he slowly pushed inside, though she had no strength to fight him anymore.

She moaned and cried and trembled as he entered her, as he stilled within to savor the feel of her warmth around him. But she could not struggle anymore, could not thrash or knee him, could only cry and whimper as he thrust into her, slowly at first but building in speed and intensity.

Draco was technically dead and literally a monster, he thirsted for blood and his heart did not beat. But still, somehow, he could enjoy this, the feel of hot wet life enveloping him. He slid inside and out, reveling in the sensation, thrilling at the rush of blood through her veins, the rush of her breath on his skin, the scratch of her nails on his back. Draco leaned harder on her trembling body and thrust in deep, groaning as the explosion of pleasure overtook him, as the walls of her embrace clenched around him, as she moaned into his ear, as he tasted her again.

The world spun when he was finished. He lay on top of his prey, crushing her, and lapping gently at her wound, caressing her with his tongue. His head felt heavy; he had lost himself completely for a moment, more than he ever had with any other feeding. The girl lay crying beneath him, crying and confused, and bleeding slowly still, her life seeping into him.

As he licked her he healed her wound, sealing the skin so that she would not die, just another of his powers of life and death. He shifted slightly, so that he slid away from her, leaving dripping juices in his wake.

The beauty of Samhain had held up for him after all; he had taken his prey, and felt a deep satisfaction fill him from head to toe. He felt tired, but pleased, and he took in these feelings: the cold air of an autumn night, with the moon shining high above and the blood shining below. The heat of her essence swirled through his veins, made him feel flushed and content.

Draco kissed her one last time, and moved away from her, releasing her finally from his grip. Still she lay in the leaves, far too weak to free herself, too weak to run away into her home of perfection and safety. Draco laughed at her. "So strong," he said, "and now so broken. Tell your father who broke you, girl. Say my name. Draco Malfoy."

He had not used his last name in months, but felt joy at uttering it now, to have it float upon the air of the Potters and leave its mark upon the throat of their little girl. They would never see Samhain the same way after this night, and neither would he, with this memory to cherish on his grey nights.

The girl swallowed hard, lifting her head, so that she could stare at him with defiance in her eyes. "They'll kill you," she said, her voice weak and raspy, "and I'll watch them do it."

"You'll watch them, and you'll wish I were fucking you again," he replied, before vanishing back into his shadows, leaving her to whimper and moan in the front yard, eager to have his touch again even as she despised him.

He had left her to live, though she would be forever broken, drained of the vitality that had so drawn him to her. It lived now in him, in the blood he had taken from her, in the innocence he had stolen from her heart. He had left her to live, but it was not over. He would take her body yet, and he would leave her to bleed out into the earth, leave her drained and dying with his name upon her lips. He would do this and have his victory. He'd just let the Potters realize who they were dealing with first.


End file.
